


Flour

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 17:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Frodo borrows something.





	Flour

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s elbow deep in dishes when he hears a knock on the door, but his gaffers’ having a late morning nap, so Sam dries off his hands and wanders into the entranceway. He’s immediately glad he did. When he opens the door, he’s greeted by Frodo’s glowing smile—something that always makes Sam’s heart skip half a beat. He starts, “Why, good morning, Mr. Frodo,” and then he babbles on, “Were you needing anything today? I think I left it all in fine shape yesterday afternoon, but if there’s a hair out of place, you let me know. With the new roses coming in, if they wind up eating into the hedge, I can come—”

“No, no, Sam,” Frodo laughs, waving his hand. “It’s not about the garden. You’ve done an excellent job, of course; I’ve nothing to complain about.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you, Mr. Frodo.” He can feel his cheeks heating already, like they do whenever Frodo praises him, which is much too often for his own good. It then occurs to him that he’s being terribly rude, and he steps aside to offer, “Won’t you come in?” Which is also rude, because it’s too presumptuous. His house isn’t half so nice as Bag End, so there’s no good reason for Frodo to come in, and Sam must look a mess with his sleeves rolled up his arms and dirty dishwater splashed across his shirt. He’s only blushing hotter. 

Frodo kindly says nothing about it. “That’s alright. I need to get back to the house—I’m actually in the middle of something. But I just wanted to stop by and see if I could perhaps borrow one of your shirts.”

Sam blinks. “One of my shirts?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

Taken aback, Sam instantly agrees anyway, “No, of course. I’ll, ah... I’ll just go fetch you one.” He turns around, still confused, but does as he’s asked. He walks around to his bedroom, careful to be quiet when he passes his gaffer’s door, and wonders as he fishes through his drawer why in the world Frodo would want such a thing. It certainly won’t fit him; Sam’s almost twice his size. But Sam finds the cleanest, nicest one he can and brings it over. Frodo accepts it with a wide smile. 

Folding it up properly in his arms, Frodo chimes, “Thank you. This is just what I needed.”

Sam can’t help asking, “What for?”

For once, Frodo’s face is the one to flush. It’s not nearly as bad as Sam’s, but it’s noticeable enough, and it only makes Sam’s condition worse, because Frodo’s so very _cute_ when he’s blushing. He’s always cute, of course, but standing on Sam’s doorsteps, silhouetted in the sun, he looks absolutely breath-taking. He sheepishly explains, “I’m going to put it in my nest.”

All of the air leaves Sam’s body. Dizzy, he breathes, “Oh.” Thinking of his shirt, his _smell_, any mention of him tangled up in Frodo’s heats makes his whole body tremble. 

Frodo double-checks, “Is that alright with you?”

Sam can only nod. Frodo repeats, “Thank you,” and this time, he leans over to peck Sam’s cheek. His heat must have already started. 

Then he makes his leave back up the path, and Sam melts onto the floor.


End file.
